Pushing Up Bluebonnets yrm-5

by Leann Sweeney

  Richter looked back and forth between us. "But I can tell that you don't believe him. Where can I find him? I want to talk to this man."

  Ian said, "Elliott, calm down, old friend. These fine, professional people are conducting their business and making progress. Whatever they learn, whatever is important, they'll inform you in due time. Officer Boyd would tell you that you shouldn't put yourself in the middle of the inquiry. Isn't that correct, Officer?"

  Cooper nodded his agreement. "We've only learned within the last twenty-four hours about JoLynn's life before she came to the ranch, but there's eighteen other years we know nothing about. Mr. Dugan hasn't been as forthcoming as I'd like, but I'll deal with him."

  "You think he's a liar?" Richter's throat had reddened. This was the most emotion I'd seen from him and now that I was taking his inventory, the man looked exhausted, not to mention stressed to the max.

  "Please, Elliott. You're becoming overwrought. Despite your cloak-and-dagger attempts at hiding things from me, I know you've seen your physician and that can't be good." Ian looked at me. "He wouldn't want me telling you people this, but he's already had a triple bypass. This whole affair has been a little much for his ticker, I'd say."

  "JoLynn had heart problems, too," I said half to myself, never thinking Richter might have no idea.

  But he apparently didn't because he said, "What?" like I'd just told him Earth, like Pluto, was no longer considered a planet.

  Ian shot me a glance that I interpreted to mean I was a complete and utter idiot. And he was probably right.

  Cooper quickly said, "We understand her heart is fine, that she probably had surgery as a child. I take it she never mentioned this?"

  "No. Never. Christ, I need to get a specialist in, I need—"

  "Her neurologist already took care of that," I said. "She's in good hands, and well protected. I am so sorry I didn't phone you before we came here tonight to meet up with Dugan. My mistake."

  "He's here? Right now?" Richter focused on the ICU doors.

  Could I screw this up any more if I tried? This man literally needed breathing room, not more surprises.

  "Dugan's gone already," Cooper said. "And I will be excluding him from the visitor list until I learn more about him. He does have an arrest record for petty crimes. Nothing serious. But the security you've hired is a good idea."

  Ian said, "You've hired security, have you?"

  Richter ran a hand through his hair. "Of course."

  "Good thinking, but then no one could ever accuse you of anything but." Ian smiled at Richter, probably hoping to ease his friend's mind.

  This seemed to work, because Richter was more com posed when he said, "Is there anything else I don't know?"

  Should I tell him Dugan did not report JoLynn missing? Tell him about Roberta Messing, the friend who might come walking out through those ICU doors any second? I had to. And I did. Good thing, too, because Roberta and Jeff reappeared just as I finished. She and Jeff were arm in arm and Roberta had obviously been crying.

  After introductions, Richter said to Roberta, "I understand you tried to help JoLynn while that man she lived with did nothing. I cannot thank you enough for your concern."

  But this whole exchange was making me nervous, making me think about what might happen if I was to tell Richter that JoLynn's name really was Elizabeth Something and that she and Richter were not related. That would be a much tougher message to deliver than what I'd told him tonight.

  17

  Jeff left my place early Thursday morning. He wanted to eat breakfast with Doris before he went on to the Travis Center police headquarters. After we'd left Ian and Richter at the hospital last night, Cooper reminded me that he needed my help. His request? That I tail Kent Dugan, find out where he went and what he did all day.

  I'd eagerly agreed, thinking this was a good idea. Jeff shrugged and offered no opinion, but I could tell he wasn't exactly enthused. On the way back to my place I asked him if he was concerned and he said, "You can handle yourself fine. I just got a bad vibe from that guy." He'd then added his third stick of gum to the wad already in his mouth and promptly changed the subject.

  Since Diva didn't like getting up before seven a.m., she stayed curled in bed while I showered, then dressed in lightweight khakis and a sleeveless blouse. This could be a long day and I might have to spend time in the ninety-five-degree heat if forced to tail Dugan outside the air-conditioned comfort of my car.

  I grabbed a couple of bottles of caramel Starbucks from the fridge, along with several bottles of water. I also took a box of cookies from the pantry. Cookies, I told myself, are wonderfully portable.

  I'd bought a pair of camera binoculars last year and fit them into my shoulder bag along with my two phones—the computer phone and my small mobile—and the BlackBerry. I planned on getting a new all-in-one techie gadget because I love new techie stuff, but right then there was no time to even think about transferring all my files from three gadgets to one.

  The condos where Dugan lived were north and west of my place and I had to fight morning rush hour. Cookies are excellent for enduring a slow ride, and half the box of chocolate-covered shortbread was gone by the time I reached the right neighborhood. It was only eight a.m.

  I parked across the street and a block away from the row of white brick condos, which looked more like onestory patio homes. I always thought of condos as having two floors, but apparently I was way behind in my real estate knowledge. I made sure the Camry faced the direction of the nearest main thoroughfare. I didn't want to be doing any U-turns if he drove past me toward the freeway. I repositioned my mirrors now that his house was behind and to my left, and sat for thirty minutes. Then his front door opened.

  Dugan wasn't alone. A young woman dressed in skintight cropped pants and an off-the-shoulder green shirt came out with him. She was holding a cup of coffee and followed him to the silver compact car in the driveway. She kissed him good-bye and started back to the condo.

  Damn. Follow him or wait for him to drive away and catch her if she was about to leave, too? I knew what I was supposed to do, what Cooper had asked me to do, but my gut said I might not get another chance to catch this woman alone. I turned my head toward the passenger side as Kent Dugan whizzed by, then made that Uturn I thought I wouldn't have to make.

  The young woman still held her cup when she answered the door, but she'd put on a thin Oriental-print silk robe over her clothes and clipped up her strawberry blond hair. Guess Dugan preferred blondes.

  "Can I help you?" the woman asked.

  I smiled, trying for something cordial, the kind of smile that is neither happy nor sad. "Is Mr. Dugan home?" I asked. "I'm a detective assisting the Pineview Police Department concerning the accident. Mr. Dugan and I spoke at the hospital last night, but—"

  "You just missed him. He's gone to see his sister. He is so upset about what happened."

  Sister, huh? I held out my hand and said, "I'm Louise Morrell, by the way. I'm working with Police Chief Cooper Boyd. He doesn't have the manpower to leave Pineview for Houston every day to work this case, so he's asked me to help with interviews."

  She switched her coffee cup to her other hand to take mine. "Kent mentioned Chief Boyd. Said Elizabeth's case was in good hands with him. But I don't recall him mentioning your name. Of course he was nearly in tears when he got home last night, so he probably forgot."

  "He sure seemed upset." I nodded solemnly. "Since he's not here, mind if I ask you a few questions?"

  She furrowed her very lovely forehead. Even without makeup, she was stunning. In fact, she looked a lot like JoLynn. "I don't know anything about the accident. Even Kent is confused about exactly what happened."

  "We're simply searching for background information. I take it you knew his sister went missing last year?"

  "I didn't even know Kent had a sister until Chief Boyd called Kent yesterday. Kent told me he didn't want me to have to share his . . . what's the word he used?" She looked up at th
e ceiling.

  "His pain? His burden? His problems?" I suggested, working hard to eliminate any trace of sarcasm.

  She smiled and pointed at me. "Burden. That's it."

  "Even if you've only recently learned about her, you'd be surprised what morsels of information can lead to a break in a case. Can we talk for a few minutes?"

  "O-kay," she said, sounding wary. "But maybe I should call Kent first. Won't take a minute."

  "Don't bother him. He was very distraught last night and it sounds like he still is. Besides, I plan to catch up with him at the hospital anyway. I'll tell him I was here."

  She seemed to be using every brain cell to decide whether this sounded like something Kent would approve of. Finally she said, "Can you ask your questions while I put on my makeup? Otherwise I'll be late for work." She opened the door wider and then turned and walked through the foyer. "Follow me."

  I scanned the living area as I trailed after her. Modern furniture, black-and-white motif. Everything in its place. Not even a stray magazine. The master bedroom was no different except for the color scheme. Red in here, the paisley burgundy and gold pillows neatly arranged on a queen-size bed. This was nothing like my place, where I was always tripping over shoes or ending up with a pair of panties clinging to my sandal as I tried to leave my bedroom. Nope, this was House Beautiful perfect.

  "You have a lovely home," I said, halting in the entry to the master bath.

  "Thanks," she said. "You said your name is Louise?"

  "That's right. But I didn't get yours."

  "Georgeanne. What do you want to know?" She'd begun using a foam wedge to apply glittery bronze foundation to her tanned face.

  "After you found out about Kent's sister, did he tell you anything about her disappearance?"

  She discarded the wedge in a wastebasket beneath the faux-marble sink. "He said she's done this before. He felt sad, you know, that he couldn't help her."

  Help her disappear permanently? I thought. "She disappeared before?"

  "That's right, but like I said, the subject made him very, very upset. If my sister—I mean if I had a sister, which I don't—fell off the side of the earth, well, you know I'd be upset, too. Guess I can't really help you much, can I?"

  "He didn't have a clue why she went away?" I asked.

  Georgeanne kept on with her careful makeup application, focusing on her eyes now. "If you ask me, from the way he talked, I think she had a screw loose." She pointed her mascara wand at her temple and rotated it, making the "crazy" sign.

  "She was mentally ill?" Not even the Richters hinted at this possibility.

  Georgeanne turned and looked at me, one brown eye shadowed and shaped, the other plain and far prettier, in my opinion. She said, "Please don't say anything like that to Kent. Gosh, I probably shouldn't even be talking to you."

  "Then this will be our secret," I said—a promise I intended to keep.

  "That's good. He might get royally pissed if he thought I bad-mouthed his sister." She continued on with her makeover. Reminded me of Richter's housekeeper Estelle.

  "He gets angry?" I said. "I know my boyfriend has a real temper. Calls me names, throws things." Did I just tell the biggest lie of my life? Oh yes.

  "He doesn't get mad much, but boy, when he does, look out. If my mee-maw knew I was with a man who used those words—you know, the really bad cuss words? Anyway, she'd yank me by the hair all the way back to Lufkin. That's where I'm from. I was Miss Lufkin in the Miss Texas USA pageant and Kent saw me on TV. Said he wanted to meet me."

  "He went to Lufkin to find you?" I asked.

  "Well, not exactly. I work for Ace Printing. I'm the receptionist—actually my boss calls me his right-hand girl." She smiled, looking as proud as punch. "Anyway, Kent found me somehow and came calling at the office. We hit it off right away."

  She was almost done with her makeup and I needed a little time to check the place out, so I said, "Do you have another bathroom besides this one? I had one too many cups of coffee."

  "Sure. Out the bedroom and at the end of the hall."

  I walked back into the hallway and saw the open powder room door. But there were two other closed doors on the way there, one on each side. I opened the one on the right. A guest room, this one all brown and tan and as orderly as the other rooms. There was nothing homey about this place. It just seemed so cold.

  I carefully shut the door and tried the one on the left. But seeing that the traditional bedroom doorknob had been replaced with a keyed one, I knew it would be locked—and it was. Was this where they threw their junk mail, magazines, orphan slippers, empty boxes, Christmas decorations and all the other stuff that cluttered my place? I didn't think so. No, there was something else in there, something maybe even Georgeanne didn't know about.

  I heard Georgeanne in the bedroom then and rushed down to the blue and white powder room, closed the door and quickly flushed the toilet. I ran the water a few seconds and then came out. She was waiting for me at the living room entry.

  "I really have to get to work," she said.

  "Sorry if I've kept you," I answered. I glanced into the kitchen on my left as I walked toward her. Black appliances, mottled gray granite countertops, all of it blending with the living room visible through a passthrough bar. Nothing unusual, just more neat-freak ambience. "I promise I won't tell Mr. Dugan I dropped by. He has enough on his mind right now."

  Georgeanne smiled. God, she looked like a clown now and smelled like a bottle of cheap perfume. "Thanks. Maybe we can have lunch one day and you can tell me what it's like to be a detective because, you know, I think that is so very, very cool."

  "Sounds like a plan," I said as we left the condo together.

  Her car was in the garage and mine was parked at the curb. I left first and headed toward the freeway, but then took a turn down a street to my right when I saw the garage door open in my rearview mirror. I waited for a few minutes and then drove back to the condo, went past it about a block and parked. I wanted to know what was in that room.

  18

  I figured there had to be windows in both extra bedrooms of Dugan's place and I jogged back down the sidewalk—the jogging for the benefit of the man and woman walking toward me with their twin Scotties. I figured I needed an excuse for being in the neighborhood, since I sure wasn't dressed for delivering religious literature. The Scotties started lunging and barking their heads off as I approached, so I made a detour for the street to avoid losing a chunk of my leg. The man mouthed "Sorry" as they pulled their pets quickly past me.

  After I returned to the walkway, I glanced back to make sure they weren't looking before I made a hard left into Kent Dugan's driveway. I hurried past the garage to the locked-room side of the house. The window's vertical shades were shut, but fortunately even a blind hog stumbles over an acorn every once in a while. One slat was twisted enough that I could see into the room— make that see into part of the room. A copy machine stood against the left wall, and not your standard HewlettPackard ink-jet, either. Laser and color, maybe? And there was a laminator, the type I recognized from my high school days when I'd help the librarian laminate posters for the teachers. It was almost as big as the copier. What kind of consultant needed office equipment like this? Did he publish manuals or something?

  I turned my head and pressed the other side of my face against the window, trying to get a glimpse of anything else in the room while I considered the laminator thing.

  But then I noticed I had a problem.

  Kent Dugan was standing next to the garage, head cocked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Uh-oh. Think fast, Abby. "I—I was, well, you didn't answer the door, and I thought maybe you saw me through the peephole and decided you didn't want to talk to me—which I perfectly understand. I wanted to ask you a few questions."

  "Really? Well, you know what? I could have you arrested for trespassing." His anger was probably being broadcast all over the quiet neighborhood. "What's your interest in Eli
zabeth, anyway? How did you know her?"

  "I—I—" My gaze wandered beyond Kent to the sidewalk.

  The Scottie walkers were back and they had slowed to take in this unpleasant confrontation.

  Dugan followed my stare. He sounded perfectly nice and in control when he said, "It's nothing, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis. I'm just a little upset because they found Elizabeth and she's hurt and now I have an unexpected visitor."

  "They found your wife?" Mrs. Lewis said. "That's wonderful news. Will she be okay?"

  "That's not clear yet. I'll let you know." He turned back to me and quietly said, "How's about we go inside and discuss this problem privately, Abby."

  The couple took this as a cue to be on their way. Besides, those Scotties might rip the couple's arms from their sockets if they didn't get on with their walk.

  Dugan, meanwhile, marched around the garage toward the front of the condo and I followed.

  He opened the door, his anger almost palpable. Did I really want to go in there with him? Not exactly, but since I'd been accompanied by two police officers last night, and Dugan certainly didn't fall off the stupid truck, I figured he'd mind his manners.

  Once we were both inside, he gestured to the living room. "Sit down. And then I want you to tell me why they won't let me in to see my wife. See, I was turned away at the hospital."

  "She's not your wife, so maybe that has something to do with the hospital's decision." I wasn't taking any attitude from this guy without giving some back.

  Dugan's lips pressed together. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. As his expression relaxed, my guess was he was considering it might be wise to keep his enemies closer than his friends—that is, if he had any friends besides Georgeanne.

  He walked over and sat down, pushed his hair off his forehead and leaned back. He looked tired . . . and frustrated. "Sorry I went off on you. I'm worried about her, that's all."

  But I wasn't about to sympathize with a man I trusted about as much as I trusted my ability to hoist a baby elephant. I remained standing. "Apology accepted. Maybe you're ready to share more of what I'm sure you know about Elizabeth. Does she have a last name, by the way?"